


Thank you, Peter Hale (or the one where Peter and Derek make a bet and Stiles wins)

by beckybrit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckybrit/pseuds/beckybrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is so much rougher than Stiles is used to. The raw and desperate way he says it makes Stiles’ belly tighten, and <i>Oh god</i> this is so not the time for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank you, Peter Hale (or the one where Peter and Derek make a bet and Stiles wins)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fr333bird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fr333bird/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Спасибо, Питер Хейл (или то, как Питер и Дерек поспорили, и Стайлз победил)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138629) by [DarinaLink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarinaLink/pseuds/DarinaLink)



> This is a little (early) birthday fic for my wonderful friend Fr333bird. Happy birthday, P! I hope you like it :)  
> Thanks to the lovely donnersun for pre-reading it for me.

Peter’s sitting on the top porch step of the newly refurbished Hale house when Stiles pulls up in his jeep. He jumps out, slams his door and starts to walk toward him. “What’s the big emergency?”

Peter grins. “Derek’s drunk.”

Stiles’ steps falter and he narrows his eyes, trying to read if Peter’s fucking with him or not. “What? How?”

Peter’s grin widens. “We made a bet. Derek lost and this is his forfeit. I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it, but...” he trails off and spreads his arms out wide. “You know how... stubborn he can be.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and shakes his head, because yes. He absolutely does know how stubborn Derek can be; especially where Peter is concerned. “What was the bet?” He often imagines what Peter and Derek get up to when they’re left to their own devices, but making bets and carrying out forfeits has never made it into his top ten list of _things to do with your un-dead uncle_.

Peter’s eyes track lazily over Stiles’ body, lingering on certain areas and Stiles has the sudden urge to cover them with his hands. He forces himself to keep his clenched fists in his pockets and clears his throat, meeting Peter’s gaze when he finally looks back up.

“Well?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you.” Peter stands and walks over to where Stiles is, casually throwing an arm over Stiles’ shoulder and drawing him in close, as though he has a secret to share. Stiles tries not to flinch at Peter’s total disregard for personal space, but judging by the gleam in Peter’s eye, he’s not entirely sure he managed it. Of course there’s always the fact that Peter can smell the fear and anxiety—and may be the tiniest hint of arousal, because for some reason Stiles’ dick finds Peter’s brand of crazy weirdly hot, no matter how many times he reminds himself that Peter is _back_ _from the dead_ for fuck’s sake.

He consoles himself with the fact that Peter is strangely attractive for an old dude and has a warped sense of humor to rival Stiles’ own. But anyhoo, he ignores all of that, because it’s still fucking _Peter_.

He shrugs out of Peter’s creepy embrace and glares at him, studiously ignoring the way Peter follows his every movement. He throws Stiles a wink and licks his lips for good measure, and Stiles suddenly feels like he needs a shower to wash off the filthy looks Peter is sending his way. “Stop undressing me with your pervy, over-age eyes, and tell me why the fuck you called me.”

Peter has his back to the house now, and his gaze flicks over to the forest behind Stiles before settling back on his face with an amused smirk. “Because Derek kept asking for you”—he pauses to roll his eyes and shake his head for dramatic effect, like the queen he is—“well, whining and begging would be more accurate.”

Stiles generally doesn’t believe half of what Peter has to say, and this time is no different. In fact, the very thought of Derek ‘whining and begging’ forces an hysterical giggle out of Stiles that he doesn’t even try to contain, because come _on_. He can’t picture it no matter how hard he tries; Derek’s face just wasn’t made for such petty emotions.

“Hmm...” Stiles cocks his head to the side in an exaggerated show of listening for Derek. “That’s odd, because I can hear a whole lot of... oh I know—nothing.”

Peter still looks far too smug for Stiles’ liking. He’s usually one step ahead and it makes Stiles uneasy when Peter seems to know something he doesn’t. Which, let’s face it, is most of the fucking time.

“He went for a run.” Peter flicks his claws out, affecting a bored expression, which Stiles doesn’t buy for one second. “To relieve some of his... tension.”

Stiles sighs. “Awesome. I have absolutely no idea why I’m even here.” He starts to head for his jeep, but Peter just has to have the last word.

“Yes,” he muses, and Stiles can’t help but stop and listen to what he has to say. Curiosity is his curse. “Why _did_ you come running so quickly?”

Stiles knows what Peter’s implying. He’s always poking and prodding at his and Derek’s sexually charged, but platonic, relationship and Stiles is so not having this conversation with him. He whirls around, arms flailing slightly in indignation. “You said he was in trouble, what was—”

“Ah, ah, ahh.” Peter wags his finger back and forth, cutting Stiles off mid-rant. “What I actually said was that Derek _needed_ you. Two totally different things.”

It’s almost lunch time and Stiles can’t deal with Peter’s crap on an empty stomach. “Well,” he says, hands on hips and glaring at Peter—secretly wishing he could set him on fire with just a look. “I’m leaving; since Derek clearly isn’t coming back anytime soon.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Peter’s smile is positively gleeful and Stiles just _knows_.

Even before he feels the soft huff of hot breath across the back of his neck, he knows that Derek is standing right behind him. A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine; his body’s automatic response whenever he’s in close proximity to Derek.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is so much rougher than Stiles is used to. The raw and desperate way he says it makes Stiles’ belly tighten, and _Oh god_ this is so not the time for that. There’s nuzzling and licking, and Stiles finds himself leaning back into the solid mass of warmth at his back, before he realizes what he’s doing and forces himself to step away. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, trying to calm himself down.

Derek whines at the sudden loss of contact and Stiles is right there with him, because he wants nothing more than to have Derek’s body pressed against him. But Derek is drunk, not in his right consensual frame of mind, and therefore off limits. Stiles wants to cry at the unfairness of it all. He’s been biding his time, waiting for the opportunity to present itself so that he can make his move on Derek without fear of being rejected. And here it is—practically gift wrapped on a silver platter with a shiny, red bow—but Stiles can’t take advantage of it, because well... that would be taking advantage.

Derek has crept up behind him during his mini freak-out and strong arms slip around Stiles’ waist, pulling him backward. There’s the distinct feel of a hard dick nestled against his ass, and Stiles has to bite his cheek in an effort not to moan and push back onto it. Fuck his life. And fuck Peter fucking Hale for putting him in this position.

Stiles’ eyes snap open, preparing to vent his ire and let Peter bear the brunt of his frustrations, but of course there’s no sign of him. His work here is done and he’s obviously gone to see who else’s day he can ruin.

Derek’s hands slide lower, and Stiles’ breath hitches when strong fingers curl around his hip bones. Derek leans in to whisper _I want you_ in Stiles’ ear, and it’s so soft and seductive—the words slipping over his skin—that Stiles instinctively tilts his head to the side. Derek growls, low and urgent, and sets his teeth against Stiles’ neck and just breathes.

It’s so incredibly intimate; Stiles’ heart is beating a mile a minute, his body aches with want and he knows that Derek can hear and smell all of it. “Derek,” he whispers—anything louder seeming wrong in this moment.

“Hmm...?” Derek replaces his teeth with his tongue; licking over the marks he just made and up along the side of Stiles’ throat, until he hits that spot just below Stiles’ ear.

It’s too much. The wet, warmth of Derek’s mouth on the sensitive skin there makes Stiles’ whole body shudder. He feels Derek’s touch all the way down to his toes and it’s so, so good that Stiles never wants it to stop.

He lets Derek lead him inside the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. He has surprisingly good balance for someone who’s supposedly drunk, and for a minute Stiles thinks that the alcohol has worked its way out, but then Derek smiles at him like he’s the best thing in Derek’s world. And Stiles knows that it hasn’t.

Derek is still under the influence and Stiles should put him to bed and walk out of that bedroom, but he just can’t bring himself to leave. He’s a terrible person—he’s accepted this and moved on— and when Derek looks up at him from under his lashes, Stiles abandons all pretense of doing the right thing.

“Can I taste you?” Derek asks, pushing Stiles back down onto the bed. He follows after, crawling up Stiles’ body until he’s leaning over him with their mouths only inches apart. “Want you to come in my mouth.” He licks his lips and Stiles whimpers a little.  

“Fuck, Derek.” His mouth is dry and it’s an effort to get his tongue to work properly, but Stiles forces the words out before Derek has chance to change his mind. “Yes, yes... go ahead”—he waves a hand in what he hopes is the vicinity of his dick because he can’t tear his gaze away from Derek’s—“have at me.”

Derek grins and sits back on his heels. His hands are warm as they slip under Stiles’ t-shirt. They skim over his skin, tracing patterns over the flat plains of Stiles’ belly, before deftly undoing the button of his jeans. Stiles sighs in relief as Derek tugs them open, his cock hard and straining against the material of his boxers. He reaches down toward it but Derek growls and grabs both of Stiles’ wrists, placing them up on the pillow above his head.

“Leave them there,” Derek orders and Stiles nods, not moving an inch when Derek lets go. He pulls Stiles’ jeans and boxers out of the way, leaving them wedged around his thighs. Stiles moans softly, clenching his fingers into really tight fists, because Derek is just staring at Stiles’ dick and the anticipation is killing him.

“Derek?” Stiles chews on his bottom lip, waiting for Derek to look up, and when he does his eyes are bright and clear and... “I thought you were drunk?”

“I was.” He wraps a hand around Stiles’ length and smears his thumb through the beads of pre-come pooling at the head.

Stiles nearly bites clean through his lip in surprise, his hips arching into Derek’s touch. “But I thought... Peter said...” He struggles to find the words because Derek’s hand is on his dick and Stiles’ brain can’t function while that’s going on.

Derek sighs. It’s his pained, put upon sigh and Stiles would recognize it anywhere. “Do you really want to be talking about Peter right now?”

Stiles shakes his head, because nope. He definitely does not want to be talking—or thinking—about Peter Hale when Derek is stroking his hand up and down exactly the way Stiles likes. But his mind is an evil, evil thing and refuses to ignore the fact that if Derek is no longer drunk, then that means... “You want to do this.”

Derek rolls his eyes, and for one awful moment Stiles thinks he’s going to take his hand away, but he just leans forward and kisses Stiles instead. The rough scrape of stubble rubs at Stiles’ chin and around his lips, but he barely notices. Derek’s tongue is in his mouth; his fingers are still wrapped tightly around Stiles’ dick; so it’s really no wonder.

“Just so we’re clear,” Derek says between kisses. “I was drunk. And now I’m not.” He moves in for another kiss.

“But.” Derek’s eyebrows are now in their _really, Stiles_? position and Stiles wants to bite off his own tongue at this point, but he just has to know. “When did you stop being drunk?”

Derek stills, and Stiles would cry at the lack of friction on his cock, but Derek’s body has gone tense all over and for once Stiles has the good sense to keep quiet. “When I came out of the forest and saw Peter with his arm around you.” Derek’s eyes flash red for just a second and Stiles gets it.

“Oh.”

“Are we done discussing this now?” Derek noses gently along the base of Stiles’ throat and his hand starts moving again—much to Stiles’ relief. “Or would you like to stop and chat?”

“No...that’s okay. I’m— _oh God_.” Stiles moans when Derek bites down hard, “I’m done.” Derek grins against his skin, and then shuffles back down the bed to lick over the head of Stiles’ dick. “So done.”

Derek’s soft laughter sends warm air washing over the wetness, and Stiles’ toes curl at the feeling. He slides his hands into Derek’s thick hair, tugging sharply as Derek sucks him in, inch by inch, until he’s touching the back of Derek’s throat.

“Jesus Christ.” Stiles’ fingers tighten ,and he knows it must be painful by now, but he can’t let go. Derek hums in satisfaction as he bobs up and down, and Stiles clenches his eyes shut—if he looks at Derek right now it’ll be all over in seconds. The filthy sounds in the quiet of Derek’s room are bad enough; Stiles can hear every single noise that Derek makes with his mouth, and it’s driving him closer and closer to the edge.

He’s barely hanging on when Derek slides a hand down between Stiles’ ass cheeks—fingers slick with spit—and rubs over his hole. “Fuck!” Stiles comes hard, hips rising off the bed and pushing him further into Derek’s throat. Derek swallows—milking every last drop of out of him until Stiles collapses in a useless heap back onto the bed.

He can only lie and watch as Derek kneels up, rips open his jeans and starts to jack his cock with faster strokes than Stiles could ever manage—especially right now. Derek looks so incredibly hot—head thrown back, with a hint of fang on show—and Stiles’ dick gives a valiant twitch of interest, but that’s all he can manage.

It only takes a couple more pulls of his wrist before Derek is painting Stiles’ softening dick and thighs with sticky, white stripes.  He drops down onto his side next to Stiles, one hand trailing through the mess he just made.

Stiles closes his eyes and ignores it; he’s too relaxed to bother commenting on Derek’s weird post-sex habits. But there’s just one thing that keeps nagging at him, no matter how much he tries to push it away for later.

“Derek?” Stiles doesn’t bother to look over at him, that would require more energy that he’s willing to expend.

“Hmm...”

“What bet did you make with Peter?”

Derek groans and Stiles’ curiosity is peaked. He opens one eye and grins at the glare Derek’s shooting his way. “It was nothing, just a stupid bet. Let it go, Stiles.”

Stiles props himself up on one elbow and laughs. “Um... like that’s ever going to happen.” He looks at Derek expectantly, not blinking until Derek groans again.

“Okay, fine.” It looks like it physically pains him to say it, and he pauses so long that Stiles is about ready to shake the answer out of him. “He said he could do ten pull ups quicker than me, I said he couldn’t,” he mutters finally.

“What?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Seriously, how old are you two? Twelve?” Derek just grunts, and then Stiles’ brain follows Derek’s statement to its logical conclusion. The smile spreads wide across his face. “He beat you.” Stiles can just picture the look on Derek’s face when he lost and he laughs so hard, he almost falls out of bed.

Derek grabs hold of him just in time and hauls him in for a kiss to shut him up. It’s probably the first—and only—time Stiles will ever actually want to thank Peter Hale for anything.

The End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my writing, I also write m/m original fiction which you can find [here](http://www.amazon.com/Annabelle-Jacobs/e/B00ARUXZL4/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1391098611&sr=8-2)


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